Bringing the Red Hooded Birdie Home…
by MissScorp
Summary: There was only one thing Dick really wanted for Christmas- Jason to come home. Will Jason finally manage to move beyond the traumatic events of his death and rebirth and rejoin his family, or will he sever his ties with them... forever? Dick/Damian are the dynamic duo, appearances by all former Robin's. Family bonding and drama. T for swearing.
1. Thinking of You

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but for the general concept and theme of my story…

* * *

It was while she was hanging ornaments on the tree that she recalled the first time that she'd met Jason Todd. It had been Christmas Eve, and Jason's first Christmas here at Wayne Manor. She'd been away at school when Bruce brought Jason to live here and so had not had the opportunity to meet the thirteen-year-old prior to the Wayne Foundations annual Christmas Eve Ball. Not that it would have mattered whether or not she had met Jason before the Ball she thought as she hung an icicle shaped ornament from one of the trees bristly branches.

Because as she'd stood by the double French doors at the opposite end of the ballroom and listened to the disparaging remarks that the society whores were making about the newly orphaned teen, _she'd_ come to a decision: to love the boy for every nasty little thing that these blue-blooded assholes were saying about him.

Because Bruce had not brought home some "filthy mongrel."

Or some "degenerate that was going to either rob him blind or murder him in his bed."

No, Bruce had brought home a _boy_ who was in desperate need of a family.

A boy that had been hungry for all the love and affection that could be given him…

…and who wanted to return that love and affection just as desperately as he yearned for it.

She reached out and trailed a finger over the icicle, imagining the red ornament to be the mask that Jason favored wearing. And took a moment to drift back in time…

To that Christmas Eve and that Ball…

To that first meeting with a boy who'd ended up so completely changing her life…

To a boy who'd become the first of her baby birds…

…and who continued to hold the most specialist place in her heart.

* * *

_How horribly afraid he must be_, she thought as she made her way through the throng of people to where Bruce stood with his hand upon the shoulder of a stone faced boy all of maybe thirteen. She knew very little about the teenager, other than that he was Bruce's new ward. Her Psychology professors had kept her so busy with research papers and exams that she'd been unable to call or come home as frequently as was her wont. All that she knew about him was that his name was Jason Todd, that he was from Gotham's East End, and that he'd recently been orphaned. As far as she was concerned, that was all that she needed to know.

The expression upon his face was a combination of teenaged pride and bravado intermixed with the fearful realization that he was swimming inside a steel cage that was surrounded by bloodthirsty sharks. Bruce was doing his best, by the glint she saw in his eyes, to not simply wade into the swirling waters and rip the tiger sharks that were circling his son apart. Well, this wasn't a fight that either Bruce Wayne or Batman could fight. This was a _womanly_ kind of fight. And _she_ was the woman of the house at that moment. Head high, back ramrod straight, she walked up to where Jason stood, quietly observing the people in their evening finest as they whirled around the ballroom. Oh, the whispers began the second that she took the teen's hand in hers—and God was it trembling- and led him out onto that dance floor. _Let them whisper_, she thought hotly. Her blood was as blue as theirs and her pedigree beyond compare. And it was time to remind the high society sect of that fact.

"What the hell are ya doin?" Jason whispered furiously as she circled his shoulders with one trim arm.

"I'm slaying the fire breathing dragons."

Jason gave her a look that clearly said he wasn't amused. Raya merely smiled reassuringly at him before nodding to the band to begin playing. A slow song began to play, and other couples slowly began to resume dancing and enjoying themselves.

"Yanno that these jerks are gonna rip ya ta shreds for associatin' with me."

"Jason," she spoke gently now. "My family name and social stature are equal to that of Bruce's. And while I do not go by the name Berkeley anymore, it _is_ still my name. And it still carries a great amount of social clout, believe me."

"So, you're only dancing with me ta get these fancy scumbags ta accept me."

"I'm dancing with you because I want to dance with you," she declared in a firm tone. Then her lips curved into an impish grin. "And you should be flattered about that for the record."

"And why's that?"

"Because my first dances _always_ go to Bruce," she said. "And I've so totally tossed him over for you. His feelings are gonna be big time hurt about this."

She'd managed to surprise a laugh out of him at last. Raya Kean-Berkeley was quickly proving to be unlike anybody he'd met since coming to live here at Wayne Manor. She'd been raised in the same social circles as Bruce, but she didn't have the same stuck-up attitude that the majority of these people did. She wasn't offended by his lack of sophistication and polish. Nor did she cringe every time he opened his mouth to speak. It was clear that she did not see him as some kinda skel that Bruce had brought home.

No, when those jeweled toned eyes met his, they were looking at _him_. And he knew that the only thing they saw was him. But while having that kind of attention was a massive boost to his young ego, it didn't mean that he in any way trusted her. _Sure, she's a classy broad_, he thought as they moved among the other dancing couples. _And she treats me like I'm something human at least. But she's still a dame_. And in Jason's Todd's thirteen years of experience, dames, especially ones who were as good looking as Raya, were nothing but trouble.

"You seem to finally be enjoying yourself," she observed after a short period of silence had gone by.

"Dancing with youse ain't been so bad."

She gave him a cheeky grin. "Well, I'm glad to hear that I at least meet with _some _approval."

"Aw," he felt his cheeks fill with hot color. "Ya ain't like any of these bums. So I don't mind ya so much."

"No, I'm definitely not like any of these bums," she agreed.

Her tone was quiet, but there was a hard edge to it that Jason immediately recognized. It was the same edge that he heard whenever Bruce put on the cape and cowl. He darted a glance at her face and saw that her gaze was fixed upon a group of people standing by the doors that led out onto the balcony. But then the shadow passed and she looked back at him, smiling another of those heart-stopping smiles she had. He felt an echoing smile curving his own lips before he could think to stop himself. _The hell's the matter with me_? He wondered. The song ended finally, and soft clapping followed. Raya tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and together, they walked back to where Bruce was standing next to the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox.

An African-American gentleman in his mid-fifties, Lucius Fox stood there with a glass of champagne in his hand, and a genuinely warm smile on his lips, in his eyes. His neatly trimmed hair and mustache were starting to become more salt than pepper, and there was an attractive shadowing of silver at his temples that lent him a distinguished charm. She saw that he'd traded in his usual business suit and old-fashioned bow tie for a tuxedo with a mother of pearl stick button and smoke colored cummerbund that made him look quite dashing.

"Hello, Mr. Fox," Raya greeted him warmly. "It's a pleasure to see you out of the boardroom."

"Good evening, Miss Kean," Fox replied politely. "Mister Wayne wasn't sure that we'd even be seeing you at tonight's Ball."

"I wasn't sure I was even going to be able to get home in time for the Ball," Raya admitted with a sheepish grin. "I had exams until five and hadn't even bought a dress to wear."

"As if you don't already have a closet full of evening gowns to pick from, imp."

Raya snorted and leaned up to brush a kiss to the billionaire's cheek. "Girls need something new to wear to every party they attend, Bruce."

Bruce was about to reply, but was stopped when a shrill voice said; "Bruce Wayne, I will have a word with you."

Bruce turned to stare at the diminutive, silver-haired lady tottering towards them in a cotton candy colored gown straight out of the 1940s. Alexandria Vandercourt, mother of John and Ashton Vandercourt, his current competitors in the shipbuilding industry. Alexandria was also a woman who considered herself to be the Grande Dame of Gotham high society. Everybody was expected to defer to her, even him.

"Bruce, you are to explain just how you could have allowed that boy of yours to disgrace your family's good name by becoming a common blue-collar worker. As if bringing home this..." she gestured towards Jason with one bejeweled hand. "_Mongrel_ was not humiliation enough. Why your poor mother and father must be turning over in their graves at this sad turn of events."

Raya, as well as Bruce bristled. But Bruce was bound by a need to habitually maintain the social mask that he wore. Pretending to be the self-absorbed, borderline alcoholic and all around degenerate billionaire playboy society believed him to be was how he kept his identity as Batman a secret. But Raya could sense that he wanted to drop the act and rip the woman to pieces. She moved subtly to the side, set a hand on his arm, and felt that it was hard as tempered steel.

"I'm afraid that I do not know what you are talking about, Mrs. Vandercourt."

"Oh come now, Brucey," the woman twilled. "Surely you know what everyone is saying about young Richard having decided to become a member of the Blüdhaven Police Department."

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Why, it's simply disgusting how you poured so much time and money into turning that little gutter rat into an acceptable member of society only for him to turn on you as he did. It's absolutely shameful the way that he's repaid you for your kindness by choosing to enter such a common profession. Hopefully this," she slanted a look at Jason. "_Creature_ will turn out differently."

Raya hazarded a glance at Bruce's face. Oh yea, that thick, impassive mask, the one that he'd cultivated in order to conceal his true thoughts and emotions, was most definitely slipping. She saw a muscle tick in his jaw, her only clue as to how tight a reign he was keeping over himself at that moment. And it wasn't like she could blame him. His sons were just rudely insulted by an old biddy with a high opinion of her social worth. _Well, Hagatha_, she thought as she stepped up behind Jason and draped an arm around the boy's stiff shoulders. _It's Tit for Tat time_.

"I will not have some loud-mouthed harpy insulting the members of my family," she spoke in a polite, but firm voice. "Especially when she is a guest in our home and should recall," she added with a pointed look. "That as a guest, she should be completely mindful of both her manners as well as her forked tongue."

For a moment, green eyes clashed with hazel, held. Then the Grand Dame said in a stiff, formal voice; "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Raya said quietly. "But I will happily repeat myself if you have need of me too."

Now it was Alexandria's turn to take umbrage. She stepped back and, with all evidence pointing to shrewd consideration, quickly glanced at Raya's ring finger.

"Just like your mother I see," she said when she spied the aquamarine ring set in white gold. "Preferring a dirty gypsy to a man of your own class and good breeding."

Bruce bit back a curse and made to step forward, but Raya's short, chilling laugh stopped him. His head whipped around so fast that he was almost sure he'd given himself whip lash. But at the sight of the cold amusement stamped upon that creamy face, he stopped. And waited to see just what had so amused the young woman.

"Oh, are we really going to get _that_ nasty, Mrs. Vandercourt?" Raya's smile could have frozen ice cubes. "Because if we are then it would be remiss of me to not address how your youngest son, _Ashton_, was recently arrested for having sex with underage male prostitutes."

The Grand Dame gasped. "Why you impertinent lit..."

"And it would be remiss of me," she continued speaking over that moist acidic hiss. And her voice, Bruce saw, carried out over the ballroom. He hid a smile behind a polite cough. "To not mention how he's also being indicted on charges for his involvement in the underage sex traffic ring that erupted in Gotham earlier this year."

The Grand Dame's face twisted into a hideous mask of hate.

"You'll pay for this," she snarled. "I will see to it that the doors of society are closed to you forever."

"No, they won't be." Raya said sweetly. Too sweetly. "Until said time as I officially become Mrs. Richard Grayson, I am still Raya Kean-Berkeley. And among Gotham high society, the name _Berkeley _far outweighs that of Vandercourt." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "And I would remember that the next time you try and malign a member of my family."

A silent battle waged for a number of impregnable seconds between the two women. Finally, the Grand Dame slammed the tip of her cane upon the floor and barked over her shoulder at her hovering son; "Come John! We're leaving!" And the Vandercourt's stormed from the ballroom.

"Holy shi… uh crap..." Jason stammered. "Did you just tell off that old crone or what?"

Raya shifted, looked at Bruce. Bruce just smiled and set a hand upon the boys shoulder, squeezed it gently.

"Nobody messes with our family, Jason."

"Yea, well," the boy mumbled. "We ain't family."

"We became family the moment Bruce brought you home. And," Raya angled her head to now look at him. "I'm kinda liking having a kid brother."

* * *

Raya sighed as the bittersweet memory began to fade. Bruce had given her the best Christmas present ever that night. And the Joker had taken it away a few short years later. She'd never forgiven that pasty-faced freak for what he'd done to Jason. Nor had she forgiven herself for having failed to be there when her brother needed her the most. Having him return and launch a vitriolic assault upon the family had hurt, and badly. But what hurt worse was having Jason be so damn close, and yet still so far away.

With this being the first Christmas they would celebrate since Bruce's death, she found herself wanting to bridge that gap that separated Jason from the rest of the family. And she wanted to do so now, on the eve of her and Dick's wedding. _I want you home_, she said as she fingered that red ornament. _I want you here to share in this family's first Christmas together. And I want you up there beside your brothers when Dick and I exchange our vows in the morning_. _It's where you belong_.

But the only way that any of that was going to happen, was if she made it happen. Bruce and Dick had both kept her as far away from Jason as they could, fearing that in his volatile state he would seriously hurt her. But Raya suspected that if there was any one person that might be able to get through to the emotionally supercharged antihero-it was her. And with that thought in mind, she went in search of the one family member who was most likely to aide her in her quest to bring the red hooded birdie home: Alfred.


	2. Broken

It was winter in Gotham City.

This, of course, was a natural occurrence. Seasons change, especially in this northeastern part of the country. It was the last week of the year and Gotham was a winter wonderland. The streets were covered in freshly fallen snow, the windows of the homes and businesses they passed frosted over with ice. Colorful lights twinkled from rooftops, shimmered inside store windows. The spruce and pine trees in the Thomas and Martha Wayne Memorial Park were all decorated in holiday finery, each of them having been done by one of the handful of schools that were in each of the city's school boroughs. In old Gotham as well as the Bristol District, children were having snowball fights and building snowmen. Couples skated arm in arm at the ice skating rink in Gotham Square. And people were still rushing here and there in search of that one present that they'd forgotten to buy.

It was a remarkable night, thought Alfred Pennyworth, as he drove the Rolls-Royce off the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge and turned left onto Parker Row. And it was going to be an even more splendid day the following morning. Christmas Day was something that he knew was resting heavy upon the mind of his passenger. He had not asked her just why this errand was so important that it needed to be completed on the eve of her wedding. He knew why. Just as he knew exactly why it was that she'd asked him to accompany her upon this particular mission. It was because his young mistress knew that he was the least likely to ruffle the feathers of the birdie that she'd decided to come and bring home.

Nor had he thought to ask her, _Are you sure that you should be trying to bring the boy home? Have you thought about the repercussions that might arise with Master Jason's return to the family fold? Have you considered what his feelings are? Or what he's going to say in the matter? Have you thought about what Masters Timothy and Damian's feelings are going to be? Did you really think about what it is that you are wanting? And do you realize that it may not be something that is actually achievable_?

And why hadn't he asked? He was not, after all, a mere "butler" for an affluent family. Nor was his passenger a "regular" employer. They did not have what was considered the "normal" employer-employee relationship. For one thing, "ordinary" butlers did not drive Rolls-Royce's outfitted with armored plating and bullet-proof glass. Nor were "typical" employers also highly trained and exceptionally skilled crime fighters. _Highly trained and exceptionally skilled, but currently seven months pregnant crime fighters_, he corrected silently. And secondly, normal "butlers" were not more like surrogate uncles than they were employees. And because he was more like family to her than a subordinate, his next thought was;

_I should have forbidden her from coming here without Master Richard_.

Even as the thought crossed Alfred's mind he dismissed it. Because he knew that it would have done no good. She'd have simply come here on her own. He contented himself with the knowledge that if Miss Raya had suspected that there was even the remotest possibility of harm coming to her unborn child that she'd have remained safely at the Manor. And she would have implored either Master Richard or Timothy to come in her stead. But the aged butler had a feeling that neither of the male members of the Batclan would have been able to get through to the angry and volatile young man who was known around Gotham as the Red Hood.

_You were the only one that boy ever allowed to get close to him._

And that had been because on this very night eight years ago, Raya Kean took an active interest in a newly orphaned and terrified thirteen year old by the name of Jason Todd. She'd stood up for the boy when Gotham's high society deemed him as being little better than a filthy mongrel. She'd chosen to take the boy into her care, sheltering him as much as she could from their physical abuse and protecting him from the worst of their verbal cruelty. But even more importantly in Alfred's mind, she'd loved him openly and without any reservation or feelings of shame.

_And that made all the difference in the world for a boy who'd been taught that love was something conditional and came with a great deal of strings attached_.

The voice that came from the darkness of the backseat was soft, but coated in velvet steel. "Turn right up on Park Avenue, Alfred. And park outside a tavern called _Aces and Eights_. It's the one that Dick says he tends to frequent the most."

"As you wish, Miss Raya."

"And Alfred?"

"Yes, miss?"

"I'm sorry to have pulled you into this mess. It's just..." a pause. Alfred thought he heard a faint sniffle. "I want _him_ home."

Alfred felt his own eyes burn with unshed tears. Because he knew that the _him_ to which his young mistress referred was not only about the boy that she considered as her brother, but also about the man whom was like her second father. And who'd been like a son to him.

_You should be here_, he said to the absent Wayne patriarch. _You should be here to see your children finally marry. And to hold their first child, your grandchild in your arms_.

But Bruce Wayne wasn't there to see any of those things. He'd been taken-stolen from them by an egomaniac who'd thought himself the new God. But that didn't stop the want. Nothing would ever stop the want.

"So do I, Miss," he said finally. "So do I."

The butler-turned-chauffeur flipped on the blinker and maneuvered the big car around the corner onto the narrow, cobblestone street. He braked to a stop at the curb in front of a less than respectable looking establishment. The neon pink sign above the door sputtered on and off, its iron lettering revealing he'd stopped in front of the right place. Traffic here was absolutely non-existent. Park Avenue was where the East End's seedier bars were located. It was a one-way street, too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions. Most of Gotham City's streets were like this, considering how most of the streets were well over two hundred years old. Many of the cities homes and buildings were still representative of the old style of architecture; there was more than a hint of the Gothic Revival still in Gotham to be sure.

"Am I making a mistake in coming here, Alfred?" that soft voice inquired. "Am I being selfish for wanting Jason home?"

"It is never wrong to want your family together at a time like this. And considering everything that this family has been through in the last few years?" He added. "I do not think it unreasonable for you to want Master Jason home."

"Am I wrong to want him at the wedding though?" she was fretting now. But there was nothing that he could do, that he could say that was going to make her nerves go away. He knew that they were going to last until the moment that Commissioner Gordon handed her over to Master Dick. "Am I selfish for wanting to see him up there beside his brothers as I am walking down that aisle?"

_Considering that you will not see your other father standing there? _Alfred thought sadly.

"I think it is perfectly reasonable to want Master Jason there, Miss." He said gently. "He is your family."

_Even if he has forgotten that fact_.

But he kept that thought to himself. Upsetting his very pregnant, and thus very emotional mistress, was the last thing that the butler wanted to do.

"Dick wants Jason there," he heard her whisper. "He doesn't think I know about all the attempts he's made to convince Jason to be there tomorrow. But I know about them. And I want Jason there even more because I know how much Dick wants him there, too."

Alfred glanced in the rear view mirror; saw those jade eyes glowing from the shadows.

"I think that if anyone can get Master Jason to listen to reason, it is you, miss."

There was the roar of a motorcycle engine coming up the alley behind them. Alfred glanced in the driver's side mirror. A black Kawasaki sports bike parked behind the Rolls, and its black helmeted rider climbed off. The tan motorcycle jacket and black jeans and t-shirt screamed who their companion was. That body resembled a leashed tigers. Alfred felt a small tingle of worry and internally debated calling Master Richard.

"Well, it looks like we have found him, Alfred."

The bike's rider reached up and removed his helmet. A man all of twenty-two with eyes a vivid, startlingly shade of blue glanced at the Rolls, black brows drawing together into a frown that was both dismay and annoyance. Alfred heard the soft cry that came from the backseat. Even after every nasty little thing that Master Jason had said, even after every one of his violent deeds, it was clear that his young mistress still loved her little brother.

_I only hope that boy still possesses an ounce of brotherly affection for her_.

Jason dropped his helmet onto his bikes seat before he stalked-seriously stalked, towards the elegant car. He assumed that the passenger in the backseat was his elder brother, Dick. Which was fine with him. In fact, it was more than fine with him. He was in the mood for a quick and nasty brawl. And it was always entertaining to ruffle Dickie birds feathers. He grabbed the right passenger door handle and yanked it open. He reached inside, meaning to yank the older superhero out into the street, but the exotic scent of jasmine floated out to assault him. That hauntingly familiar aroma completely enveloped him in its heady arms, absolutely dissipating his anger and plunging him back eight years to his first Christmas at Wayne Manor.

He fought the pull of memories like a man being pulled under by the undertow.

Because he didn't want to go back to that time, to that place, or to that boy who'd wanted so fucking much to belong to a family. _To their family_, he thought savagely.

Nor did he want to remember that Christmas Eve...

Or that Wayne Foundation Ball…

Or recall how a black haired and green-eyed wildcat had braved the jungles of Gotham's high society in order to rescue him from the natives trying to roast him over their communal fire pit...

It was with a strength of will that even the old man would have approved of that he staved off those seductive threads whispering to him, pulling at him, trying to suck him into their silvery web. Anger and hatred were like a cancer eating away at his heart and tearing away at his fractured soul. But there was also a deep, dark well of want and need buried inside him. And a love he had never been able to bury or to forget. And those emotions were rising up in revolt now. All because _she'd_ come here instead of Dick.

He cursed foully and went to lurch away from that car, and away from the woman who was seated inside and making him feel things he had no desire to feel. But then those long, graceful dactyls stretched out and slid over the curve of his cheek, into the hair at his temple. It was barely a meeting of flesh upon flesh. But it was enough that it rocked him to the core of his being. Then that slender wrist turned and framed his face. The simple gentleness of her touch did what nothing else had been able to do since his miraculous return to life over four years ago...

It broke him.


	3. You win

**A/N:** Hello m'dears, hope that your week has been well! Thank you to all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review button, it's graciously appreciated! Welcome to all newcomers. Please hit the follow button if you are enjoying this small family tale. And reviews are dearly cherished. Thanks!

* * *

His low, mournful cry reminded her of a timber wolf baying at the silvery moon. The sound of it sliced her into a billion itty bitty bits. But then those pieces were smashed into pixie dust when she caught a glimpse of the raw pain and open vulnerability that was burning in the depths of those sapphire eyes. But Jason was no longer that thirteen year old boy that liked Looney Toons marathons and Alfred's lemon drizzle cake when he was feeling blue. Gone were the days where she could subtly maneuver him into opening up to her about what exactly was bothering him. And gone were the days where she could magically make her little birdies pain go away simply by wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.

"Goddamn it..." It was barely a rumble of sound. "Of anyone that Dickie bird coulda sent, why did it have ta be _you_?"

"Dick didn't send me." She literally ached with the want, with the voracious _need_ to pull him into her arms and smooth her hands over that cap of hair that was as soft and silky as a raven's wing. "He doesn't even know that I have come here in fact."

"Why are you here, Raya?"

"Why do you think that I am here, Jay-bee?" By the slight stiffening of his shoulders she knew that her use of his pet name had registered. But that was his only outward display of having heard her. "It's to bring my Red Hooded Birdie home."

Jason imagined that plunging a knife into his heart would hurt less than hearing her simple, heartfelt declaration. Knowing that Raya still saw him as family was a fist to the gut. That she wanted him to still be a part of the family was a miracle that Jason knew he did not deserve. He was not worthy of either this woman's loyalty or her love. Not after every vile, despicable and cruel thing that he'd done-to Bruce, to Dick, to her cousin Barbara, to Tim and Damian.

"Aw, goddamn it, Kit..." the moan that was ripped from him came from the very depths of his twisted, dark soul. "How could ya even want a no good, murderin' son of a bitch like me around?"

"I love you," came her simple reply. "And I want you in my life, and at my wedding tomorrow because I do love you." Her lips curved. "You're my brother, Jas. You became my brother eight years ago in fact. And nothing, not even death, has changed that."

Jason felt as if she had just thrown his ass into a vat of boiling acid. His bones melted and he sunk to his knees with a hoarse cry. He buried his face against the curve of her shoulder, much as he'd done when he'd been thirteen and in need of her unique brand of solace and comfort. Her arms and that agonizingly familiar scent enveloped him. Her cheek came down to rest gently upon the cap of his hair and she crooned soft, nonsensical words to him that inspired sunny afternoons spent in the Manor's lavish gardens. The memories that she was blatantly manipulating him into remembering would have once pissed him off to such a point that he'd have grasped her by the throat and demanded she stop. But this was his _Kit_. He could never raise a violent hand to her. It would kill him if he ever did. And Jason realized that what he was feeling as he wrapped his arms around her was not anger so much as it was..._relief_. As if he was finally casting off all the dark and excessive weight that had been weighing him down all these years.

_Here is what I was wanting, what I was longing for when I came back to Gotham. It was about her. Its always been about her, in fact._

This pretty, jade eyed kitten was the one member of the Batfamily that Jason could say with complete honesty that he'd missed. And was that a surprise really? Not when it was those eyes that he'd seen while he'd been in his year's long coma. Not when it was those eyes that had told him that somewhere in the world was somebody who was missing him. Who loved him. Who was waiting for him to come _home_. Her memorable eyes had been the one tangible thing that he'd been able to hold onto as he'd wandered around in search of who he was.

"I've missed you, Jason." Her words were a moist breath that flicked over his chilled flesh. He thought he heard a sniffle, but told himself that he had to be mistaken. His Kit wasn't the kinda woman who cried at tense family reunions. No, his Kit would wade in with her eyes spitting fire and threatening to slam their heads together if they didn't get over their mitchiness. "God how I have missed you."

"Then why did you wait so long to come to me?" He heard the bitterness even as she did, and made to apologize for it. "Shit, Kit..." but then he felt something wet drip down the side of his face. He lifted his head, saw the tears spilling down her cheeks, and smoothed them away with his thumb. The sight of those fat drops rolling down those sculpted cheeks, and the realization that they were because of him, because of her feelings for him, eradicated what little bit of the Red Hood remained. But then those gemlike eyes shifted, met his, and he saw the echo of grief that he knew was going to be forever carved into her gaze. And for once in his life _listened_ and _heard_ something that was being said to him.

"You made it clear on the night that you returned to Gotham that all members of the Batfamily were your enemy…"

"But not _you_," he gritted. "You were never considered my enemy!"

"Why? Why was I any different from the rest of the family?" she questioned softly. "Why was I special?"

"Because ya just are."

"But am I not a member of the family, Jason?"

"You're _my_ family." He gripped her shoulders in his hands, shook her, once. "Do ya hear me?" He shook her again. "_Mine_!"

He heard a slightly distressed sound from the front seat, recognized it as belonging to Alfred, and frowned. Did Alfred really believe that he was capable of hurting Raya? Didn't the butler know, didn't he realize that he'd blow his brains out before he would ever allow himself to physically harm his Kit?

"I failed to protect you, Jason." Her voice was quiet, and all the more powerful because of it. "I wasn't there to prevent the Joker from getting his hands upon you. I wasn't there to stop him from hurting you. And that makes me as much to blame for what happened to you as it does Bruce."

"Kit, no..." he began, but she shook her head.

"You might have about four inches and fifty pounds on me," she said firmly. "But you'll always _be_ my little brother. And it was my job as both the Fenix and as your big sister to ensure that you were kept safe, that you were protected, and that you made it home safe every night. I was derelict in both my job categories. And I'm sorry for having failed you. I'm sorry that I was not there to stop the Joker from murdering you."

"Bruce is the one to blame! Not you!" he snarled as old hurts and angers rose up to choke him. "He's the one who left me there while he raced off to play the big hero! He's the one who didn't avenge my death!"

"So what if your death wasn't avenged?" There was an echo of corresponding heat in her voice now. "Is vengeance the only thing that matters? Or doesn't the fact that Bruce was torn apart by your death count for absolutely nothing?"

"His final words to me were of regret for having made me his son, his partner!" He hurled the words at her, damning her for reminding him of those words, and damning Bruce most of all for having been the one who spoke them. But mostly he damned himself for even still giving a shit. "He saw me as some type of a goddamn failure..." his voice dropped to a low, anguished tone. "As something he oughta be ashamed of."

"Bruce _never_ saw you as a failure," she refuted in a voice that throbbed with intensity. And a soul deep grief that Jason understood all too well. "He saw _himself_ as the failure."

When he merely snorted, murmured; "whatever," and looked away, she sighed.

"Jason, what he said in his message to you? What he meant about his greatest failures being in not properly training you for your role as Robin, and in failing to protect you from the Joker? What he was doing was apologize for having failed to be what you needed him to be the most-your father."

"Then why on God's green earth is the Joker still alive?"

"You still don't understand," she said sadly. "I'd hoped after all this time that you'd finally have come to understand."

"What don't I understand?" Jason demanded. "That his moral code wouldn't allow for him to kill that pasty faced freak? That it wouldn't allow him to cross that line? To finally do what he shoulda done years ago?"

"No." Raya framed his face with her hands. And stared into his eyes. "That it'd be too damned easy for him to cross that line. To become the very thing that he'd spent his entire life fighting."

"Bullshit..." he began but she quickly cut him off.

"There wasn't a day that went by that Bruce didn't think about subjecting that fucking clown to every horrendous torture that he'd ever dealt out to others. There wasn't a moment where he wasn't tempted by the idea of exacting vengeance for your death by finally ending the Joker's life."

Despite the hated weakness of them, Raya again felt tears, pure sentiment, gather in her eyes. Speaking about Bruce was still something she found hard to do, even after all this time.

"Then why didn't he?" It was a question coated in the thick, sticky layers of a child wanting to understand just why their parent had so failed them. "If it had been you that that son of a bitch beat to a bloody pulp with a crowbar, if it had been you he'd taken from me, I would've done whatever I had to in order to make the clown pay."

"And what if he had killed the Joker?" she asked him. "What if he had murdered the Joker like you wanted him to? Would all have then be forgiven? Or would you then be bitchin' about how he failed to live up to that larger than life expectation that we all had of him?"

She heard him mutter a curse, felt the way that his body went as taut as piano string. But she didn't pause to soothe his ruffled feathers. Not yet at least. There was more truth that she wanted him to hear before she began to tackle his bruised and battered feelings.

"You've damned Bruce for not killing the Joker. But Jas, ya woulda damned him even if he had killed the clown. How was he supposed to win when you'd stacked the deck in such a way that every hand was a losing one?"

She placed a hand upon his cheek and was rewarded when Jason reached up and laid his hand over hers. A muscle ticking in his jaw was her only clue as to how tight a rein he was keeping over himself, over his emotions at that moment. But he was listening. And that was, given his volatile and unpredictable nature, as good a sign as she could hope for.

"Bruce is dead," she spoke gently now. "And this time is not like all the other times where we thought he was dead and he suddenly comes stumbling home. He's not coming back, Jas. Not this time."

"I know he's not coming back," he didn't growl it. Jason just sounded exhausted. "You don't have to keep reminding me."

"Then don't you think that it's time to accept that the man beneath that cape and cowl was human? That he made some mistakes? And forgive him for those mistakes?"

"I forgave him a long time ago, Kit."

"Then come home, Jay-bee," she begged. "_Please_."

Silence reigned as Jason fought an internal battle with himself. He desperately wanted to give her what she wanted. If he was being honest, really honest with himself, going home was what he wanted as well. But there was a shadow inside him, whispering to him that it was a trap, that they didn't really want him home, that it was just another staged intervention.

He was on the verge of refusing when a blast of wind blew into the car. Jason ignored it, but Raya shivered as cold fingers snaked beneath the hem of her gown. She stretched around him for the lap blanket folded upon the seat opposite them. Jason received his second shock of the night when he felt her belly-her very _pregnant_ belly, brush against his arm. Staggered, his hand dropped to her rounded stomach, feeling the slight movement of the life that was growing beneath his palm.

"Raya..." the slight hitch of wonder, of awe in his voice made her smile.

"Your niece is telling you that she wants you to come home, too."

His _niece_, he thought with another trickle of amazement. But then old fears and a decade's worth of memories wormed their way into his consciousness. His niece, those worms whispered, who was about to be born into a world where a psychotic clown would think nothing of tormenting and torturing her. His niece, who that pasty-faced smuck would not hesitate to murder. His niece, who was being born into a family of crime fighters with huge bull's-eyes upon their backs. Jason felt his blood surge, a primal beat. His niece, who _he_ was going to protect and defend with every breath in his body. Same as he would protect and defend her mother. His head again dropped to her shoulder. Her arms enfolded him, but to Jason it felt more like she was curling herself around him and sheltering him.

"You win, Kit," he whispered. "You win."

He felt the soft kiss she pressed to his hair. "Alfred?" she called to the silent man seated up front.

"Yes, miss?" came the polite, but slightly gruff reply.

"Home, please."

"Very good, miss."

_Very good, indeed_, was the butler's silent thoughts as he started the car.


	4. Welcome Home

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To any and all new followers, welcome!

* * *

The Manor looked like a golden palace, alight with a thousand tiny lights draped across the roof, and strung upon every limb of every tree that surrounded the huge mansion. Every light had been turned on within the huge fortress and cast long shadows upon the pristine snow that lined the huge, curving driveway. It was a whimsical, fantastical illusion that belied the omnipresent darkness that perpetually hung over the house. Raya shook her head as she stepped from the car and looked up at the house.

"I swear," she muttered. "For a trio of well-trained crime fighters, those three idgits worry like a buncha of old fish wives..."

"Well shit, Kit," Jason said as he took her arm and led her up the front steps. "You're freakin' pregnant here. Kinda expected that they are gonna worry if ya just up and disappear." He cast her a glance; smirked. "Especially since this is the night before your wedding. Didn't ya stop ta think about what Dickie bird mighta thought if he came home to find ya gone?"

She cast a sidelong glance at him; smiled that mischievous smile of hers and said in a voice that was all innocence, "I left him a note on his pillow."

He snorted; replied, "_Gone out_ is not much of a note."

Raya laughed before stepping up to the huge wooden portal that was a doorway into the past, present, and future. She reached out and gave the door a gentle push, watched it spring open to reveal a huge, wide foyer. A huge, wide foyer that was nothing but polished marble, dark wood, and the cool sparkle of a silver fountain spewing frothy torrents of water. The front entry, fountain base and the balustrade had been outfitted in yards of garland that shimmered in the hundreds of twinkling Christmas lights that had been wrapped among the pearlescent strands. Huge ornamental wreaths of sweet smelling pine had been decorated with huge ice blue colored bows, tiny robins, toy soldiers, small groups of winter berries and imitation candy canes. To her the foyer was warm and festive, brimming with the joy and spirit of the season.

But Raya saw the Manor as Jason might be seeing it, first as that scared and love-starved thirteen-year old who was celebrating his first Christmas with his new family, and then as the twenty-one-year old man that was returning home to that family after five long years of being apart. Eight years may have passed, her red hooded birdie might be all grown up, but there was still a lot of the love-starved boy inside the man who was standing so warm and silent beside her.

She could well imagine that a storm was raging inside him right now, and so reached out to take his hand in hers. She knew by the way that his fingers clamped upon hers that the man was as terrified as that boy she'd danced with eight years ago. Raya turned, and the expression upon his face was a combination of a man's pride intermixed with the boy's bravado. But beneath that was a stark uncertainty 'Oh, baby', she thought as she stepped to him. 'Don't you know how much they want you home as well'? Her heart and hand were trembling as she slid her fingers to the back of his neck.

"You're home, Jas," she said gently.

_Where you belong_, she added silently.

* * *

_You're home_, she said. Two words that he never honestly expected to hear from a member of his family ever again. That deep, dark well of want and need buried inside him began to bubble and boil with the conflagration of emotions that were swirling around inside him. Memories rose up to choke him - their early-morning _waffle-talks_, the all-night movie marathons, the snowball fights that would always end with them teaming up against Bruce. They were only a few of the happy family reminiscences that he'd taken with him into hell. Every recollection was one that had become tarnished during his swim in the Lazarus Pit with Ra's al Ghul.

Just thinking about his resurrection, about his dip into that restorative pool had a wave of nausea roll thick and greasy through his belly. Sweat popped out onto his skin, cold and clammy. His breath whistled out between his teeth and he staggered a bit as he took his first step into the foyer. With no choice, he leaned back against the wall of one staircase and waited for the worst to pass. She must have sensed his distress because the next thing he knew those graceful fingers were sliding to the back of his neck and drawing him into a warm and comforting embrace.

"Everything is gonna be okay, Jas," she whispered next to his ear. "I promise you... it is going to be okay."

Nerves, doubts, worries, they were a foreign entity to a man who'd been living in the red haze of hate for as long as he'd been living in it. But they were a churning ball in the pits of his belly. He buried his face into the tight coils of her hair and held on tight. Much like that thirteen-year-old boy had when his world had gone to shit and she was the only one who could again make it right.

"Don't make promises that you cannot keep, Kit," he gritted as his stomach heaved again.

"I _can_ guarantee this promise, Jas." She turned her head and skimmed her lips over his temple. It was barely a whisper of contact, but it was more than enough to soothe the volcanic eruption threatening to overtake him. Vomiting here in the main foyer of the Manor was the absolute last disgrace that he planned on. But the firebugs burrowing through his intestinal tract were taunting him, reminding him about two of the greatest offenses that he'd committed- shooting a then nine-year-old Damian Wayne and stabbing Timothy Drake in the chest with a batarang.

"Tim and Damian ain't gonna want me around," he said in a voice that smoldered with every ounce of feeling searing through his veins at that moment. "Not after the shit I've done to 'em."

"That's not true..." Raya began but Jason simply cut her off.

"Yeah, it is, Kit." He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed to avoid any more sensory input. He already thought that he was going to implode from the overload to his neural circuitry. "Soon as they see me..."

"They'll say welcome home."

Jason angled his head and stared at the man who was standing on the landing above them. There was no hostility in the sapphire eyes that were peering down at him, no hint or sign of the anger and dismay that he'd imagined would be stamped upon his older brother's face. The only thing that showed upon his face was a bone-deep weariness that Jason knew and understood only too well. Jason watched as he shoved away from the railing and began making his way down the staircase.

Dressed in faded jeans and a black t-shirt ragged at the hem, Dick Grayson was of average height, with a strong, lean face shadowed by a night's growth of beard. Hair dark as a raven's wing was still damp from a shower, and his eyes sparkled with warm amusement and something that was deeper, and much more intimate in nature. Dick had packed on some muscle since donning the cape and cowl, giving his lean frame a tough, disciplined look that well suited his new role as the Dark Knight.

He'd always known that Dick would make changes, add his own unique style and flare to the infamous role he was stepping into. And, he thought, amused despite himself, he'd been proven right when the bulky and heavy Batsuit that Bruce had favored had been replaced by a suit that was lighter and more suited to Dick's tendency for high-flying acrobatics. He said nothing though, simply watched as Dick hooked Raya by an arm and gently tugged her over to him. That he'd found a way to balance his nocturnal career as Gotham's guardian with his personal role as this family's patriarch was another line that separated him from his predecessor.

"Loved your note, Rae," he said dryly.

"Did it say _gone out_?" Jason inquired in a wry tone.

Dick chuckled and held up a red icicle shaped tree ornament for his brother's inspection.

"No," he said. "She just left _this_ on my pillow."

Raya harrumphed. "I figured the ornament was an obvious clue as to where I was going, what I was about and who I was going to see."

"Oh, it was quite an obvious clue." He agreed with an urbane nod. "And made even more obvious by the fact that not only were _you_ gone, but so was Alfred."

"Well, I can hardly drive my car in my current condition, buzzard's breath."

"Ya coulda stayed home," Dick said cheekily.

"Yeah," she said on a long, drawn out breath. "But then _Jason_ would not be home."

"So?"

She rolled her eyes; huffed, "so staying home was clearly _not_ an option, Bat brain."

"You should have just asked me to go and talk with him, Rae." He leaned down and gave her a quick, smacking kiss. "You know full well that I will do whatever I have to, to make you happy."

"You recall that your last attempt to get me to come home resulted in us brawling atop the old GCPD building." Jason pointed out in a voice that was laced by regret and shadowed by guilt. "I'm thinking that her bridegroom being all bloody and bruised on their wedding day mighta been why she'd decided to come talk to me herself."

Dick glanced over at his younger brother, quipped, "gee, and here I was about to welcome you home."

"Why?" Jason asked bluntly.

"Why what, Jason?" his brother queried as he slid his hand down Raya's arm, setting it atop the one she'd placed on her rounded belly. Raya angled her head and brushed her lips over Dick's cheek. Jason felt his heart constrict at seeing that simple and affectionate gesture between the soon-to-be married couple. But then he recalled how they'd always been demonstrative in their feelings for one other. Finding Raya and Dick snuggled on the couch, or sitting out in the gardens was about as common as finding Bruce brooding down in the Batcave.

"Why are you welcoming me home, Dickie?"

He really wanted to ask him why he wasn't throwing his murdering ass out. If he'd been in Dick's position, that's exactly what he would do. But no, that wasn't the kind of man that Richard Grayson was. And Jason still didn't know if that was something that pissed him off about his brother or something that made him respect him more than he did.

"Jason," Dick said easily. "This is your home just as much as it is ours."

He shook his head. "It stopped being my home when I tried to kill Drake and the kid."

"The way that I see it," Dick sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. "The last few years have not been the best of ones for any member of this family. And yes, you made mistakes. But so have we."

"Not like the ones I've made."

"We've been dealing with our grief in whatever ways we could think of. But that doesn't mean that this is not your home still. Nor does it," he added in a firm, but gentle voice. "Mean that we do not consider you as part of this family. You've always been a member of this family, Jas. And nothing you do, or say is ever going to change that."

"Don't ya think that ya should ask Drake and the kid about what they think about that?" His lips twisted into a wry smile. "They may well disagree with you."

"Do you think that you'd be standing here if we disagreed, Todd?"

Jason looked up and saw that Damian Wayne, his eleven-year-old face scrunched into his usual perma-sneer was standing in the open doorway of the living room. Just behind him stood Timothy Drake, one shoulder leaning negligently against the door jam, and his arms folded across his chest. Somewhere in the past year, Tim had gone from being that boy hanging upon the precipice of manhood to a man that was completely comfortable within his adult skin. Jason didn't have any doubt whatsoever that those physical changes had inspired some serious mental ones as well.

"If we were gonna say no," Tim said seriously. "Anytime in the last two weeks would have been the time for us to do so." His lips quirked at the corners. "But we didn't say no, Jason."

"That's because her pregnancy hormones kick in whenever we object, Drake."

"_You_ raised the objections, Damian." Tim pointed out cheerfully. "_You_ were the one who made her cry."

Damian's teeth gnashed, but he did not kick Tim like he clearly wanted too. Which was a major change from how things were a year ago, Jason saw with some amazement.

Jason looked over at Raya; asked, "did the kid really make ya cry, Kit?"

Raya shot a dirty look at Tim from around Dick's right side. "I don't have a clue about what Tim's talking about."

"Oh, so you don't recall crying over the burnt cookies the other night?" Tim said cheekily. "Or because the mail was late yesterday? Oh, and let's not forget about how upset you got because it was snowing this morning."

"You looking to spend New Year's grounded to the cave for that lip, Red Blunder?" Raya growled.

"Be doing the city a favor if you kept him home," Damian muttered.

"Damian..." Dick said with a hint of warning in his tone.

"Sorry," came the churlish reply.

Jason watched the byplay in silence. Then he looked at Dick and said; "So I hear that I'm gonna be getting a niece here somewhere in the next month or so."

Dick rolled his eyes and looked down at the woman in his arms. "Bound and determined to give me a girl aren't ya, Rae?"

"I'm thinking that I already got three boys and you," she replied primly. "A little girl will make for a nice change of pace."

Dick pressed a kiss into her hair. "Just so long as _he_ or _she_ is healthy," he said. "I don't care about what we have."

"Me either." She lifted her arms and circled them around his neck. "Just as long as _he_ or _she_ has their daddy's good heart, and their momma's good sense, I'll be happy."

This was what it meant to be part of a family, he realized. It wasn't about a piece of property, or even blood. It was about the people. It was about the love and the laughter, the sadness and the tears, the anger and the fights. And it was about forgiveness. Jason realized that he was being given a second chance at being part of a family, of having a home.

_And I ain't about to blow it this time._


End file.
